Miner County, SD
HAILSTORM OF 1884
Composed and printed in hand-set type by South Dakota Writers' League., 1939
Transcribed by ©K. Torp, 2006

IN JULY 21, 1884, the worst hailstorm ever experienced in Miner County devastated a large crop area and did great damage to animals and buildings. Toward the middle of the afternoon, ominous white clouds began gathering in the northwest. Home steaders busy with their hay crop looked askance at the threat that seemed to be advancing toward them with terrific rapidity, and fled to their shanties.

When the storm struck, it was something that no man, woman or child would ever forget. The sky became inky black, and jagged chunks of ice came hurtling at everything in the storm’s path. Lamps and candles were hurriedly lighted to see if possible what damage was being done.

At the Gullick Langland farm, Reverend Mr. Shirley was reading with his confirmation class. During the recitation a huge chunk of ice came tearing through the roof, landing in the midst of the group. That ended lessons for the day.
Andrew Satter, hurrying home to his wife and babies, found two large hailstones in the shanty, one on the floor and the other on the stove. His wife and babies were crouching beneath the stout, homemade table, thereby perhaps saving their lives. The roof of a nearby granary was riddled.

Another farmer living south of Carthage had a team of horses each of which had an eye knocked out by the hail. Corn and grain were mowed down as if cut by a sickle.

George Laurence was a pioneer lumberman. His wife was at the lumber yard on an errand and lingered a few minutes. Just then the storm struck. Mrs. Laurence, half frantic, wished to run home to her two small children who were there alone, but her husband held her back. She would be injured, he said, perhaps killed, by the gigantic chunks of ice that hit the ground in a thundering roar. Several teams of oxen tied to the hitching rail were bellowing loudly. When the storm abated, the Laurences ran to their home. The panels in the door were split wide open, windowpanes were shattered, and like little Dutch Peter with his finger in the leaky dike, the two children, seven and nine, were holding the family featherbed over the window to keep out the hail.

In later years settlers shook their heads when ever this hailstorm was mentioned. They hoped never to see its like again.

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